


One Hell of a Headache

by Ealasaid



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-16
Updated: 2011-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-26 03:39:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ealasaid/pseuds/Ealasaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fact of the matter was that the Felt was running out of time before the last bottle of aspirin in the whole fucking city was ingested by the whining green suits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Hell of a Headache

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lucky_spike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucky_spike/gifts).



There was something fishy going on in the Mansion.

It’s hard to say what tipped you off first. It could have been the splitting headache you had gotten ten times over the past three weeks, when you’d never been someone who got migraines on a regular basis, not even back when you controlled half of a country that wasn’t necessarily always in one universe (“fucking fairies”). It could have been the fact that  _everyone else_  was  _also_ plagued by feeling of having a mile-square industrial block being compressed at full construction inside their skulls (or seemed like it—some of them were probably just pretending to get out of doing work). Or it could simply be the fact that there was always something fishy going on in the Mansion, and that it was just blatantly obvious this time around that something was up.

Nevertheless, the fact of the matter was that the Felt was running out of time before the last bottle of aspirin in the whole fucking city was ingested by the whining green suits. Clearly, something needed to be done.

Talking to Scratch about it, you found, was pointless (though you aren’t sure what you expected, he’s never been too helpful before). He gave you some vague answer about all things being found out in time, which didn’t make sense to you since being the Felt meant that time really wasn’t an issue when it came to story continuity, but that’s the old Doc for you.

Stitch couldn’t be bothered about trying to figure out some way to make the effigies repeal the effects of the headaches. He just kicked you out of his basement when you made your appearance. (He really doesn’t like you for gimping Itchy up every other week for being an asshole.)

You could have talked to Snowman about it, but you didn’t. You just don’t bother the universe with things as mundane as headaches.

So you settled with talking to Die, resident voodoo witch-doctor-thing (you’ve never been too clear on the details) about it. However, you didn’t come to the conclusion he was the next person you should talk to until after you snarked at him unfairly for something stupid, so, caught between business and a bit of repressed guilt, you ended up standing awkwardly outside his room one afternoon.

He didn’t answer when you knocked the first few times, and you were about to leave assuming he’d gone when you heard him say something through the door. There was a bit of silence while you stopped and leaned in, and then he said something again.

You scowl and edge the door open. “Die?” you ask. It’s pretty dark inside, except for some flickering lights. Die is so weird.

You push in farther and close the door behind you. The flickering lights are coming from the little bathroom that’s attached to everyone’s bedroom, as is Die’s disembodied voice. Unable to repress your fascinated curiosity, you tiptoe around the dim outlines of furniture to see what the voodoo man was doing.

Die’s sitting in a ring of purple candles on the tile floor with some strange designs painted on his face. He’s muttering things at the moment, eyes closed. You feel your eyebrows shoot up—it looks like he can do some actual voodoo shit without that creepy doll. You’re impressed; all you’ve ever seen him do until now is boggle vacantly at shenanigans and then stab a pin into his doll and disappear.

Die’s voice gets louder, and you realize he’s speaking in French. He shouts suddenly, making you jump, and he slams something down on the floor with a violent  _crack_.

You manage to get enough of a view to realize it’s a picture frame with—creepily enough, a picture of  _you_ —now standing upside down when suddenly every single tool ever created by mankind is shoved into your brain and set to excavating it. Vaguely you’re aware you make a noise suspiciously like a very girly shriek and you stagger into the wall clutching your head as the worst fucking headache  _yet_  takes the opportunity to let you know just how much it’s missed you.

“Fuck!” you snarl as you slide to the floor, doing your best to completely encase your throbbing skull with your body. The last thing you see before you become completely preoccupied with the pain is Die pressed against the bathroom wall between the toilet and the sink as far away from you as he can get, looking horrifically guilty.

At least you have a plan to stop the plague of headaches, you think dizzily as the chainsaws in your brain rev louder. You are going to  _kill_  Die.


End file.
